


Magelight

by notasnowelf



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: A World Half Full, Adopted Children, Adoption, Atonement - Freeform, Bittersweet, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Cultural Adoption, Domestic, Family, Family Angst, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Mild Horror, Minor Character Death, Parent-Child Relationship, Skeletons In The Closet, Slice of Life, Vampires, making do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 05:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14372358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notasnowelf/pseuds/notasnowelf
Summary: Just as the last hopes of the orphan Sofie are extinguished, a strange mer offers to take her away to his cottage outside Falkreath. He doesn't know much of the ways of men, and his home is remote and far away. "It might not be as easy - it might be more dangerous. Your life would not be normal. But you could have a... guardian, and such a life, if you wished."She agrees, and the next chapter of her life begins.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _ I wrote this genfic back in 2014 for a prompt on skyrimkinkmeme and have since wanted to move it to a non-anonymous platform, to keep it safe and a little easier to find in the future, but long delayed because "I ought to revise it first" and "I ought to incorporate new lore, but there's so much" and I never could find the time. I've decided now to just post it as-is so that it will be up, safely archived, and accessible for new readers. _
> 
> _ A caution for gentle horror, oblique descriptions of violence, and children in scary situations -- and a hope that you will enjoy this little labor of love: a story about what still, after the chance for a happy ending is lost, remains. _

 

 

In winter, the moons were never out in Windhelm. When the sun set and the bitter flurries began their nightly tumble through the streets, they'd wrap themselves up in dark, woolen clouds, cover their faces to guard against the bite of the snow, and fall fast, fast asleep. She wished _she_ had such thick, warm blankets to burrow under, though a mat was better than nothing, even if she had to press her knees to her chest to shelter both her feet and her face beneath it. And though the nearby buildings blocked the flow of air and kept the worst of the wind off her, every now and then a gust would blow down the alley and try to peel her cover away.

The edge fluttered and lifted away from her, and she stirred to tug it back down over her shoulder before curling up tight and returning to what feeble imitation of sleep she was allowed. Her feet hurt and her legs were cramped, and now and then a bit of ice would sneak through the rough weave of the mat and sting her face - and she was hungry, and that pain would not dull no matter how long she ignored it in the vain hope of stealing a few moments of rest.

Another sharp gust hit her and she shivered, trying once again to draw her cover tightly around her. It took her a moment to notice that something else had drifted into her corner, as if by the wind - a dark shape, leaning over her. In the dim light, it looked barely humanoid; crouching at her side like a great hunched dog or a black-haired troll, ragged-edged scarves and cloaks hanging off it like thick, shaggy fur. She was struck by a brief fancy that it might be Orkey's black beast come to take her away; the possibility didn't surprise her, and, somehow, it didn't scare her, either.

Neither of them moved as she stared up at the stranger's only visible feature - a pair of milky green eyes, staring back at her unblinkingly. The snow continued to fall in silence, and her fingers continued to go numb.

Finally, a muffled male voice, all seriousness, intoned, " _You're cold_."

She didn't have it in her to laugh at the sheer inanity or even to feel anger at that callous tone. She just blinked and shivered, tightening her grasp on the mat.

The cloaked man said and did nothing for several more moments, as if waiting for a response. When none came, he slowly and subtly tilted his head, dark brows drawing down over his strange green eyes. He spoke in a near-whisper with an oddly lilting accent, not one she recognized from the Gray Quarter or the docks: "Why are you not inside?"

Why? It was obvious, wasn't it? As obvious as the chill biting her down to the bone. Still, she answered. "My papa's... gone."

Her lips hurt and it took a surprising amount of effort to speak. The words struggling out of her mouth were so quiet, she wasn't sure whether he'd heard; he remained still, head cocked, with what little she could see of his expression unchanged. Finally, he spoke again. "Your mother?"

"She's dead." She paused and glanced towards the basket tucked against the wall, withered flowers inside accumulating a frosting of white from the evening's snowfall. After days without any sales, a stranger was taking notice of her; it occurred to her that she should quickly grab her basket and make an appeal for a coin or two. But the pain in her stomach was warring against an incredible heaviness in her limbs; she wasn't sure she had the strength to move. She exhaled, that brief, stupid hope fleeing her body along with her breath. "I don't have anyone."

The stranger observed her quietly for a moment before murmuring, once again in that strange combination of musical accent and feelingless tone, "You will die."

She closed her eyes.

A sharp crackle and burst of heat startled her eyes open a moment later. It wasn't her mother crouched over her, ready to welcome her home; it was that black-clothed stranger holding up an uncorked flask of thick blue fluid, flames from between his gloved fingers licking the glass. He finished unwinding a scarf from around his neck, wrapping it around the hot glass before pushing it into her hand. "Drink."

Whatever wariness she might normally have felt must have been locked away by the cold, deep below the surface of her mind, or perhaps it was something about the light that made obeying a mage or possible specter of death seem sensible. She drank; it tasted a bit like snowberry cordial with the consistency of gravy. Warmth, welcome if not completely comfortable, began spreading through her chest.

When she looked back at him, a second scarf had come off, and he was undoing the lacings of his cloak. As he shrugged off different layers, different shades of black, he began to look less like a shapeless monster and more like a man. And then, when he finished tugging his hooded robe off over his head, leaving him dressed in a pink-stained tunic and shaking his long hair free, he looked less like a _man_ \- his ears were long and pointed, his face dramatic and bony with scooped-out cheeks. He was so pale that even under the meager light reflected off the rime and stone, he seemed to glow. She gasped.

"Are you a Snow Elf?" she asked.

He laughed, fixing his eyes on her. "Falmer are bad," he whispered, after a pause. "They steal little Nords away to their caves and eat them."

"So you're not a Snow Elf?"

He smiled without showing his teeth and pulled his robes down over her head; they were cavernously big and smelled powdery and strangely sweet, as if he'd been carrying lavender sprigs in the sleeves. He threw the heavy cloak around her shoulders, then delicately draped and knotted a scarf around her neck. "Now you'll be warmer, but - you should go inside."

Her brain was defrosting but slowly, and it was only after she'd watched him rise to his feet - he was so tall his head seemed to break the clouds - that her eyes widened with alarm. "But - you can't give me all this! You'll freeze instead!"

His gaze dropped back down to her from the sky and he chuckled. He again oddly syncopated with a pause, "The cold does not trouble me."

"Aha!" She sat up straight, triumphant. "So you are a Snow Elf."

"Tch! I am not."

"So what are you, then?"

Another pause before he answered, quietly. "I am not any kind of elf."

At that, she squinted suspiciously, but she decided not to challenge him. Instead, she volunteered, "Well, I'm Sofie."

His eyes refocused on her and he smiled but said nothing. An awkward silence hung in the air, one Sofie was about to try breaking when, without warning or farewell, he abruptly turned and began to walk away, a purse tossed behind him and into her lap. Startled, she almost tried to hop to her feet and follow, but the potion's warmth hadn't yet made it all the way down her legs, and she'd be certain to trip and tangle herself in his giant robes anyway.

Instead, she called after him: "Wait - where are you going?"

His strides were long and he had almost disappeared into the snowy darkness already, but he stopped at the sound of her voice and glanced back over his shoulder. After a delay, he smiled once more and answered almost too softly for her to hear. "An appointment."

Then he disappeared.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

"Is it true, then?"

"That vampires have attacked Windhelm, too? Oh, yes. Isn't it terrifying? I heard it from Arivanya: she was walking home from Candlehearth Hall the other evening when just behind her, she heard a terrible scream, and when she looked - oh, it was horrible, blood everywhere! The poor man never stood a chance. And the vampire, it was as twice as tall as a man and white as a corpse, with teeth the size and shape of daggers! She only took one look and ran; lucky there was a guard nearby, or it would have gotten her for sure!"

Sofie shuddered and hurried along, out of range to overhear the gossip. It was late, anyway; the sun had disappeared behind the city walls, and the market would soon be deserted of potential customers. She paused to gaze longingly towards Candlehearth Hall, a wisp of warmly scented air fanned toward her by a patron swinging open the door, before turning back towards the eastern end of the city.

A tall figure blocked her way, seeming to have appeared as swift and silent as a cast shadow. She peered up at its masked face, nervous - at least until she placed where she'd seen those pale green eyes before and smiled. "Hello, Mister Snow Elf!"

He stared back at her; since that night, he'd replaced his robe and cloak, and he was once again wrapped head to foot in not-quite-matching swaths of dark fabric, somehow equally tattered as before, preventing her from knowing whether he smirked or scowled.

It didn't discourage her; she held up her basket. "Would you like to buy a flower?"

He peered down at them, then reached down to take one wordlessly. After handing her a coin, he reached up to pull down the scarf masking his face and, without pause, popped the wilted bloom into his mouth. She blinked, but didn't question it, watching him while he chewed it expressionlessly. Though she wondered whether he'd give her a review of the flavor, he went back to staring at her instead and held a long pause before observing, "You're outside."

"It's not so cold today," she chirped; it was technically true, but the evening breeze, picking up, reminded her to rub her upper arms to warm them... although she slowed and stopped when her movement drew his gaze to her sleeves, where it stopped, his eyes narrowing. She was suddenly nervous again.

He didn't speak for a moment; when he did, his tone had lowered. "You're not dressed in them."

She looked away and took a deep breath, a hand dropping to her wrist, feeling where the last of the bruises was almost fully faded. "I... lost them."

Another silence passed before he murmured, "The money, too," his frown deepening.

She lowered her eyes. "Yes."

She regarded the stones for some time before he reached out to grip her shoulder suddenly, almost making her yelp, and then turned her towards the inn, marching her up the steps. He paused at the threshold, reaching up to tug his scarves and hood back into place before pushing Sofie through the door.

Elda looked up as she stepped in. Her eyes settled on the child first, and she pursed her lips; her look made Sofie want to run and hide behind the tall elf's leg, as if she were much younger than she was. The proprietor's expression changed, though, when her gaze moved to the black-cloaked man filling up the rest of the doorway; with sudden nervous friendliness, she offered, "Well... What can I get you?"

The elf pushed Sofie forward again, more gently this time. "Feed her."

 

The broth's flavor might have been soured a bit by the look Elda gave her along with the bowl, and eating across a table from a hunched and faceless elf was certainly... odd, but it was still the most delicious meal Sofie could remember having in a long time. Although Susanna was no longer there, the nice Dark Elf lady bard, at least, seemed happy to see her again, and played a series of lively tunes; the girl swung her legs under the table in time with the music, taking care not to kick her dinner companion. He remained still and silent, unaffected by the entertainment; he kept his face turned down and to the side, hiding even his eyes from view.

As Sofie's hunger was gradually sated, her curiosity gnawed at her instead, and she leaned forward, trying to peer up at her benefactor's face. "Aren't you going to eat, too?"

After his customary pause, he answered, "Not now."

She frowned, glancing at her wedge of bread. "You should have some! It's good."

He still didn't look at her, but his hooded head tilted slightly. "Good," he murmured. "You'll live here."

She stopped mid-bite. "I'll what?"

"You'll live here. I'll pay for it. You won't live outside."

Those words were pronounced with confidence, but when their only response was silence, he finally raised his head to regard her carefully, a trace of confusion in his eyes. She avoided meeting them at first, mumbling her thanks, but when she glanced up he was still staring at her. Firmly, but softly, he commanded her, "Speak."

She dropped her gaze back to her food, mashing a bit of soggy potato with her spoon while trying to think of how a good girl would answer. "You're a really nice elf," she began hesitantly, "and I don't want to live outside," but...

But...

She looked over her shoulder, at the patrons, milling and lounging, some strangers who'd drifted down the White River or been pushed ashore from the Sea of Ghosts, some faintly familiar from her circuit around the marketplace. A few faces she remembered from even earlier days, memorable for the pity they'd held when she'd cowered from sneers and hisses about how an orphan ought to earn their keep, show a little gratitude, the _lazy parasite_. When Elda's voice cut over the soft din of the common room, Sofie flinched, even though the shout was at Luaffyn this time.

When she turned back, those strange green eyes were still staring at her. She searched for words to force through her throat. "It'll be good to live here again, so, so - thank you."

Another pause as his gaze wandered away from her, towards the stairs down to the bar, then flitted back to her face. The scarves and shroud made it impossible to know exactly what he imagined her response to imply, to conceal, but he spoke quietly. "You will live."

Her shoulders fell and she stared at her plate again. He was right, of course. Better to live in the kitchens again than to freeze to death on the street. Or could he have even paid enough for her to sleep in a room of her own? In a room of her own, she could nestle under the covers and tell herself a bedtime story, if she could recall one, and wrap her arms around herself in a comforting hug, and she could fall asleep there, drifting off while watching the door through which Papa would... not return.

She glanced again across the room that bustled with loneliness.

"I just wish I had a family again."

Had she said that out loud?

She looked at the black-cloaked elf across from her. He'd turned his face to the wall again, hiding his eyes, making it impossible for her to guess at what he might be thinking. But, eventually, he did speak, in a whisper just as soft as hers.

"Yes."

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

The fur-lined collar of the coat he'd brought her smelled weird and tickled, but it was cozily warm against the gusty wind. Without it, she would have been loath to set foot outside the Hall at this time of night, even for this caller; with it, the temperature was almost bearable, and the icy flakes stinging her cheeks helped scrub away her sleepiness.

At the same time as she snuggled her nose into the fur and shivered, the man beside her was loosening his scarves and throwing back his hood, seeming relieved at being able to drink the night air freely. A puff of wind that made her hunker into her clothes and shiver caught his hair, its dark strands licking the sky, and he exhaled with a sharp smile, lengthening his stride, nearly forcing her to trot to keep up.

Sofie peered back at a guard walking past them, glancing up at the tall elf; he paid the soldier no mind. She'd wondered if her mysterious benefactor hid his face indoors to disguise his identity, but that didn't seem to be the case. Maybe it was just some sort of strange Snow Elf thing, bundling up by the fireplace, uncovering one's ears out in the biting cold.

As she studied him, he glanced down to study her. His expression was difficult to read. After a moment, he asked, "How is it?"

"How's what? Candlehearth?"

"Yes."

"Oh, it's... nice. I get to eat hot food and sleep in a bed!" She smiled, hoping that was sufficiently grateful, though his immediate twitch of a frown indicated perhaps not. She ducked her head and tugged at the hem of her coat nervously, but his gaze drifted off her, towards the Hall, as if his irritation was directed there. After a pause, he returned his attention to her, the slight softening of his expression reassuring her.

"... I'll boost you up."

She blinked, looking at where he rested his hand against the thick stones of the city wall. Here, the level of the street rose and the top of the wall dipped, just low enough, she realized, for a child standing on a man's shoulders to scramble up. She looked back at him, hesitant, then tugged the belt of her new coat tighter and grabbed onto his offered arm.

Climbing while wrapped in so many layers wasn't simple, and she scuffed and thoroughly grimed her palms on her clumsy journey up. But by the time she'd hauled herself back to her feet, he was already standing on the top of the wall next to her, as if he'd leapt up as easily as a cat. She puzzled at this for a moment, but when he commanded, "Look," her gaze followed his point off into the distance. "You can see Kynesgrove."

Mostly, she could see only indistinct blackness and snow, but after squinting intently she could just make out a few specks of flickering light. "I've never been to Kynesgrove."

He looked back down at her, brows minutely lifting. "Not even to Kynesgrove?"

"I've never been outside Windhelm." The wind felt stronger and colder on the wall; she shivered into her coat. "Papa said he might take me someday, but..."

The wind wailed. Then, "Do you like Windhelm?"

She blinked up at him; it seemed a strange question. She looked over her shoulder, back over the roofs, the chimneys, the cold streets, back towards the Hall, where Elda was scolding Luaffyn - or else the wind was hissing in Sofie's ears.

He waited for her answer; when it didn't come, his eyes drifted off her, towards the west, and began to speak slowly. "Past the mill, along the River Yorgrim, is the road to the Pale."

She certainly couldn't make out any mills in the darkness, but she nodded, listening.

"Turn south on that road and you come to Whiterun Hold," he continued, oddly halting and hesitant. "Beyond Whiterun is Riverwood and Falkreath Hold." He paused there, glancing down at her; when she looked up to see if she was supposed to respond, she was surprised at the expression on that usually-unreadable face, anxious and uncertain. "I have a house there."

Another long silence followed. Sofie watched him, unsure what to make of this other than that perhaps Snow Elves did not live in glaciers, after all.

He looked away and, for the first time that she had ever seen, fidgeted. "Windhelm... your home, and you live amongst your people." Another pause before he forced himself to speak again, sounding awkward, almost pained. "You can... live here."

She could survive, yes. Again her gaze wandered backwards over the rooftops, the cobble, the windows that glowed with empty warmth.

"You don't have your father -" and, seeming to see the way the stiffened at those words that sliced her from behind, he hurriedly continued, "but you have your people, and you have a life here, a normal life."

"My life's not normal," she spat back at him. "My parents are dead and nobody cares about me. I'm somebody's else's kid who gets in the way."

_My parents are dead._

_My parents are dead?_

But a soldier passed below, his blue uniform illuminated by his torch, and Sofie felt no curiosity, no hope about the face concealed by his helmet.

Her companion fell silent as if rebuked, and the snow fell. Then, hesitantly, "I cannot be a normal father."

She didn't react, didn't look at him, not understanding what she was hearing, still staring after ghosts.

He fidgeted again, the dust of snow on his shoulders scattering. "But - you could... inherit the house. I... have books. I speak languages. If you wished, I could educate you - in the Art." His hand drifted to his throat, pulling his scarf a little tighter. "I'm not... a man, and I might not often be home... It might be lonely."

Now, slowly, she was listening, and staring up at him with increasingly wider eyes.

"It might not be as easy - it might be more dangerous. Your life would not be normal. But..." He turned his head slightly but didn't quite manage to look at her. "You could have a... guardian, and such a life, if you wished."

A particularly harsh gust picked up, buffeting them, but the tall elf stepped into its path, shielding Sofie from being blown off her feet. His dark cloak and scarves billowed in the wind, surrounding her in a wreath of black tatters.

The snow eased, continuing to fall, gently.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

Sofie's first taste of abnormality was to be the hour at which they departed Windhelm. She had been about to begin preparations for bed when her elf arrived at the Hall, bearing a travel cloak and pair of boots sized to fit her. Though he had suggested that they begin their journey the following evening if she wished, they were out the door soon after, Luaffyn's smiles and Elda's ambiguous look trailing after them.

As the city's brazierlight faded behind them, they waded into darkness, the meager moonlight straining through the clouds barely enough to see by, even when reflected against the stark white landscape. The rush of energy her excitement had spurred began to flag as she stumbled, for the second time, over a protruding stone in the road.

She picked herself up, glancing up at the elf's face, finally visible after he'd loosened the black cloth swathing him head-to-toe. "I'm fine," she said quickly, patting the layers of clothing around her middle, thick enough to draw the envy of a horker.

He remained quietly studying her, though whether it was doubt, concern, or pensiveness in his face, it was hard for her to say. Finally, he murmured, "It is dark for you."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that; it was _dark_ , surely not only for her. "Um... You have a torch, or a travel lantern -"

"No," came the surprisingly swift reply; Sofie blinked, feeling somehow reprimanded. The elf seemed to notice this; his expression quickly softened, and his gaze flicked away from her, thoughtful. Then, in a gentler tone, "Stay still."

Sofie obeyed, though when he cupped a palm and it began to sparkle, she felt a fleeting impulse to flinch away. Half-recalled stories of warlocks and conjurers, and even worse, _elven_ warlocks and conjurers, rose to her mind. She pushed them away, though; this new, abnormal life would require her to forget them. Instead, she held obediently still as a ball of blue light rolled off his fingertips and collided, painlessly, with her forehead, before drifting off to hover over her shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked when her voice returned, trying not to sound too fearful.

"Magelight."

Under its ghostly blue cast, they continued west along the road. For a while they walked in silence, but when she exclaimed at a patch of stubborn flowers poking through the snowbank, he began to point out the names of the trees and shrubs they passed. This passed the time, but eventually the excited questions slowed, then stopped, and the girl began to trail a few more steps behind. She vaguely remembered hooking her arms over his shoulders, winding her fingers into his scarves, and inhaling that weird, powdery scent of herbs and flowers and something else clinging to his robes as he walked, but perhaps she was already dreaming at the time.

 

When she awoke, it was in an unfamiliar room, with faint sunlight leaking through the dirty window high above. The smells and sounds drifting in from beyond the doorway seemed like those of an inn, though it certainly wasn't Candlehearth. After stretching, she swung her legs off the bed and hopped down, directly onto something dark that hissed ferally in response.

After she recovered from the chill down her spine and realized what she had stepped on, she gasped and squeaked her apologies. "I'm so, so sorry. Are you okay?"

There was no reply beyond a faint grumble as he slithered up into the vacated bed, the disgruntled black blob concealing himself completely beneath the blanket.

Thus was she left to her own devices for the day, pestering the publican before wandering outside to pick wildflowers. Strange, it was, to be able to stroll about lazily and pick what she pleased or pull off a flower's petals one by one if it amused her; no longer did her fate depend on filling a basket with the best specimens. She might have liked to toss them into pond and watch them sink or float away, but she wondered if the elf would like them, as an apology - or maybe as a snack. So she sat on the dock with her bouquet and watched an awkward orc fish without much success, her giggles and questions eventually persuading him to sit down as well and tell her about the wild edibles and spices of Eastmarch.

The sun marched through the sky, and by the time Sofie went inside for another meal, the elf still had not stirred from their room. When she came to check on him, he was just as she had left him, burrowed beneath the blanket; it seemed not even to rise and fall with his breaths. A spike of anxiety ran through her, but she steadied herself and timidly peeled back a corner of the covers, letting out the breath she was holding when he flinched and turned away from the light in response.

He was still... there, which relieved some of her worries, though new ones sprung up, too. "Are you okay? It's already after noon."

"I'm fine," from beneath the blanket.

"Are you sure? You look..." She hesitated. What if saying it was a curse? "You look... sick."

"I'm fine." A pause, and then, "Don't fear."

She could try to obey, but it would be hard. She forced a smile and a bright tone. "I picked you some flowers!"

Another pause before the blanket pulled back just enough for his milky green eyes to peer out at them. "Thank you," softly, seemingly felt. But he went on, "Go, eat. I'm still tired."

He was tired enough, it seemed, to sleep until the sun dipped below the horizon. Only then did he step out into the common room, tightly bundled as if _against_ the warmth of the fireplace, and touch her shoulder, whispering that it was time to go. She looked up from her cup with surprise. "Won't you eat? You should try some of this souflay that Bagaglob made for me!"

The elf shook his head. "I'll be fine."

"Now, friend, you mustn't skip meals," Sofie's new acquaintance cut in, offering her guardian an uncertain but broad smile. "Especially if you're protecting the young lady on a long journey. The most important thing for good health is a hearty, hot meal -"

A sharp green glare silenced him, and the hand on Sofie's shoulder squeezed once before releasing her. As the elf turned towards the door, his cloak fluttering behind, she sank into the feeling that something was wrong, but she could not understand what or why.

It would become an old companion, that feeling.

"Let's go."

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

The ice-covered cliffs of Eastmarch and the Pale gave way to the sweeping tundra, the expanse lit by Magelight and the glow of the moons. Sofie's guardian pointed out to her the first tundra cotton she had ever seen growing wild, and she chased after luna moths by the side of the road until she tired and he carried her, dozing, through the gates of Whiterun.

After the first morning, she made sure to carefully step over him on her way down to eat breakfast and look around outside. It seemed that every night of travel they put between them and Windhelm warmed the weather and parted the clouds a bit more; the world was brighter and full of more color than it had been since her Papa left. The air was full of the scent of the early-blooming lavender that seemed to burst from every cranny, and she felt as though they had walked, physically, out of winter and into spring.

She'd sat down beneath the great tree to eat a sweetroll, ridiculously fragrant and decadent, when she noticed a dark-haired girl in a shabby dress eyeing her treat hungrily. Old instincts urged her to wolf down her prize and flee, but the part of her that had begun to believe that there might be another sweetroll in her future won out, and she tore off a sticky half to offer. With a shy smile, the other child came to sit on the bench beside her.

"Are you from one of the farms?" the girl asked.

"I'm from Windhelm."

"From Windhelm! Did you just move here?"

"No, we've just stopped here on the way to Falkreath."

"Are you going with your parents?"

Sofie paused. "No, my... my parents are gone. I'm going to live in..." - what would it be called? what would _he_ be called? - "my guardian's house."

The other girl stared at her. "Guardian?"

"I'm an orphan," still difficult for her to say even if she had admitted it to herself. "But he said he'd look after me, 't least until I'm bigger."

The stranger's reply was silence and a gaze that slowly dropped down to the cake in her hands, cake she began to eat. Sofie looked away and munched on her own half for a while, watching a pair of small birds squabbling with each other on the branch above. When she glanced back at her companion, she was startled at the tears running down the other girl's cheeks, salting the frosting of her roll.

"What's wrong?"

Another big tear squeezed out of her companion's eye as she swallowed. "Somebody noticed you," she finally murmured, quiet. "Somebody picked you. Why doesn't anybody notice me? What made him see you? Will someone see me soon, or am I gonna disappear?"

Sofie didn't know what to say.

Or, rather, she knew what she _could_ say, later that night as she watched the edge of her guardian's cloak fluttering in front of her, Magelight painting the road blue. She knew what she could say to sacrifice some of her good fortune, to risk displacing his charitable caprice elsewhere, to jeopardize that stream of sweetrolls that could be hers alone. She knew, too, what she could say to at least try to make someone else's winter thaw, to make someone invisible at least briefly seen.

But she didn't say it, walking after him in somber silence.

Perhaps he noticed her uncharacteristic quiet; she had to continuously turn her face away to dodge the glances he tossed over his shoulder. Finally, he spoke. "Something troubles you."

"I'm fine."

He did not protest, but he kept watching her, studying her obliquely with one green eye. A dozen steps, a hundred steps, before he spoke again: "Torchbugs."

She looked up, blinking. "What?"

He pointed; yellow pinpoints winked and swirled in the darkness ahead. When Sofie responded only with mute staring, he continued. "I've none left in supply." One glowing insect meandered their way, and the elf looked back at Sofie expectantly as it floated foolishly close to her face. Halfheartedly, she reached out to trap it in her hands, her companion nodding his approval and carefully handing her a glass-walled jar. "Go on."

She stepped into the grass, pursuing her quarry without much enthusiasm until one crafty specimen in particular kept evading her grasp, prompting her to huff and break into a run to capture it, the black-clad elf always watching and following behind. As the jar filled more and more with golden light, her unpleasant thoughts faded, and she laughed as torchbugs slipped through her fingers, scattering and dancing around her.

Suddenly, as she was transferring her latest catch to the jar, the blue orb hovering over her shoulder sputtered and gave out. Though the bugs she'd collected gave off some light, it was still only enough to see her hands. She tipped her gaze upward to the sky, where fingers of clouds had begun to stretch across the moons. "Ah - I can't see!" Laughing, she looked back over her shoulder into the darkness, calling towards the road. "I need another Magelight."

Silence. Then, suddenly, without the sound of his footsteps' approach, his voice was by her ear, a low hiss. " _Down_."

Even though she didn't quite understand, a cold fear still washed over her. "What?"

" _Down!_ " He yanked the jar of light from her hands, tossing it away to roll down towards the river, and pushed her to the ground. His voice again at her ear, "Be still. Be silent. Don't move before my return, and _don't look_."

She was too shocked to do anything but obey, huddling against the ground.

At first, all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart, but gradually, heavy boots against the dirt and stone of the road grew faintly audible. Then, a man's voice, unfamiliar to her, outwardly friendly and yet somehow off-key, "Greetings, traveler."

Her elf replied, his own tone flat and low. "Fair evening, paladins."

"It's a bit late to be out wandering the roads alone," came another voice, another stranger's. "Care to join us on the way to the next inn?"

"Thank you," he answered, "but I decline."

"Why not? It's much safer to travel together."

"Don't you have a lantern, stranger?"

"Come here and let us see your face -"

A sudden cry, and then a shout, "I knew it!" cut off by the roar of flame.

Racing footfalls, shrieks, metal striking stone, a deafening crack and then a smell like air split by lightning, a smell like smokestacks collapsing, screams. Sofie stayed frozen to the ground. She hid her face behind her hands and closed her eyes as he told her, but the flashes of magic cutting through the night were so bright they pierced her eyelids.

It continued, the growls and roars of Nord voices, the snap of eldritch power, and once, an elf's high-pitched howl in a language she didn't understand. Her heart nearly stopped then, but still the cacophony persisted, closer and farther, on and on and on.

It seemed that whole ages of that horrible noise passed before, finally, its volume began to dwindle. The shouts and curses became weaker. The voices became fewer until there was only one she didn't recognize. And then, at last - a grunt and a clatter, then a pained gasp - then moans that became rasps, then gurgling.

Then quiet returned to the tundra, aside from the soft crackle of smoldering grass.

She didn't move and didn't speak, and she tried not to think.

The silence was at last broken by sounds coming from the river - footsteps, then splashing. After that, quiet again, then a soft voice: "Sofie."

Before she could move or answer, he had scooped her off the ground, tucking her head in close to his chest as he sprung back to his feet and began to walk swiftly away, a walk like an ordinary man's run.

His robes smelled sweet, like herbs and flowers and something else.

As he walked, a drop of icy water fell from his chin to her cheek, and she finally craned her neck to look at him. His eyes remained fixed ahead; his face and hair were wet, and his expression was emptier than she had ever seen before.

"Don't look."

Clouds reached the length of the sky, and without moonlight or Magelight, they hurried through the darkness.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

As much as long nights of quiet terror might seem to stretch on forever, they would always, eventually, give way to daylight, in accordance with the laws set down by the gods. As those days cycled once more into nights, that bend in the road disappeared behind them along with the rolling tundra, and the pine-fragrant woods of the south embraced them instead.

They arrived in early evening, just after the last red had faded from the sky. They turned off the road and made their way up a steep hill, Sofie much more slowly than her guardian, who often had to turn and wait for her shorter stride to catch up to his.

At the top of the hill, nestled amongst trees and cliffs that concealed it from the road, was the house. When he had said "house," Sofie had imagined something like a farmer's cottage, perhaps with a shed and garden; there was indeed a little garden sheltering rows of unfamiliar young plants, but the house was not what she was expecting. It was long and grand, almost the size of the Cruel-Sea mansion, with real glass windows and a half-finished tower just poking above the highest branches of the canopy.

He led her inside, sticking a globe of Magelight to the central pillar to light up the room. The house seemed even larger from the inside, perhaps because of the sparseness of the furniture, although a pile of wood and box of tools in a corner indicated it would not stay so bare forever. Most of the pieces already finished looked homemade, like the bedframes on the second floor, though a chest of drawers in the same room, red-varnished with intricate brass handles, reminded her of a dresser at Candlehearth, imported at great cost from the south - or so she learned from Elda after she scuffed it.

"Wow," she breathed. "You're rich."

He took a moment before answering that. "Rare talent and knowledge, if cultivated, are valuable."

"So," she cut in, before he could begin a lecture on the virtues of study, "you're not the lost king of Snow Elves, after all?"

He let out a startled scoff. "No."

She laughed and flopped down onto a bed, running her fingers through the thick, soft fur covering the throw. "It could have been fun to be a princess."

He didn't reply, though she thought she saw a trace of amusement cross his face before he turned to head back downstairs, tugging off his gloves and unwinding his scarves as he did so. While he lit the fireplace and puttered quietly with pots and pans, she stretched out and surveyed the room, which, unlike the others, had been carefully decorated with rugs and drapes. There was something off about the decor, though, and it took her some time to put her finger on it; it wasn't until he called her down to eat that she realized what it was.

"Why aren't there any candles?"

To her, it seemed an innocent question, a natural question, but when she asked it, he stiffened, grip tightening on the ladle in his hand. A moment later he recovered, spooning out a serving of pungently herbal soup, but that lapse still filled her with vague anxiety. When he answered, his voice was quiet and strange. "Candles are unnecessary. There will be none."

"But, at night?"

"Magelight." With that, he nudged a bowl in front of her, his mouth curling into an awkward smile. "Now, eat... if it's not too poorly made."

 

And so that night, too, ended, under the faint moonlight falling through the window onto the pillow of her very own bed, with an inward resolution to, as soon as possible, learn how to cook, as she drifted off into her dreams.

At first, her guardian stayed nearby, spending the days asleep or sewing or nailing inside and the early evenings teaching her the names of the plants in the garden, pointing out the roads to Falkreath and Riverwood from the top of the tower, and, as darkness replaced color in the sky, teaching her the names of the stars until it was time to go inside and read until she fell asleep.

She'd rise before him, and while nibbling the fruit or candy he left for her on the dining table, explore the nooks and crannies of the house. A desk drawer held a row of purple crystals, arranged from smallest to largest, the last one bigger than her fist; a chest heaped with cloth and pelts concealed, at the bottom, an impossibly large vertebra, completely stripped of sinew and flesh.

There were other treasures, like the robes she found hanging in the back of his closet, satiny black with graceful embroidery that glistened silvery-gold. She laid them out on the bed to marvel at them; they were the most beautiful clothes she had ever seen. But when he returned upstairs and she looked up at his face, she returned them to the closet immediately. He didn't scold her - he never did scold her - but she never took them out again.

She played while he watched, and he read while she listened, and a lazy week rolled past. Then he departed for a journey of several days, leaving Sofie to her own devices. Without candelight or Magelight to push the darkness away, she saved the night for dreaming and the daylight for adventures.

Compared to the bleak black and gray of Windhelm, Falkreath seemed full of life and color, the trees packed with birds and the underbrush skittering with animals. She borrowed a book from her guardian's bedroom to press strange leaves and flowers in, and she filled a basket with the different kinds of pinecones that fell around their house. Curiosity and excitement filled her, and she played without care through the afternoon - at least until she spotted, from the top of a rock, an altar ringed by sculptures and strewn with bones, and later a chorus of eerie wails sent her fleeing from the garden back into the house, where she huddled under the blankets when not triple-checking the locks on the doors.

"There are wolves that howl at dusk," she told him, on his return. He looked out the window, his fingers tightening on the sill. She woke that night to the sound of hammering outside, and the next morning, she found the garden fence twice the height it used to be.

He came and went, bringing back bread, candies, and backpacks stuffed with goods. At home he dressed like a normal person, even if kept his odd hours, sawing wood or scrubbing laundry in the yard under the moons.

One night he returned with what looked a bit like a small, curly-haired horse or possibly a skinny, tail-wagging bear. "The dog will stay here," he explained as Sofie tried to protect her face from the creature's tongue.

She blinked at him. "You got me a dog?"

"It will protect you. You need not fear the wolves." In response to her dubious look, he hesitated, then continued softly. "His father is also gone, ... so I brought him here."

Here, to the house of those without families, she thought, combing tentative fingers through the dog's mess of a coat.

Without families, but with protectors, perhaps with friends.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

With each step of summer's creeping approach, the line of snow on the far-off mountains took a step of its own in retreat. From where she was sitting on the steps of the inn, Sofie could see that the ice on Bleak Falls Barrow had done the same since their last visit, as if it had gingerly tucked in its toes as the lower elevations grew warmer and warmer.

The afternoons were already pleasant enough to allow her to remove her coat and fold it in her lap, where it could become progressively stickier as she nibbled her way through her honey-glazed treat. Her dog, despairing of ever receiving a bite, lay at her feet, his eyes on her, forlorn.

Then, he raised his head, his ears and tail perked. She followed his gaze over to another shaggy wolfhound, much like her own, who came bounding over to exchange traditional canine greetings. Beyond, a pair of children stood and watched, curious eyes on both her and her companion.

"I like your dog," the boy remarked.

Sofie kicked her coat aside and hopped to her feet, hurrying to meet them. "I like your dog, too."

He smiled, though not quite as eagerly as she. "His name is Stump. He's great. My da got him for me."

"Me, too. I mean..." Sofie hesitated and took a breath. "My guardian got my dog for me. There are wolves and ghosts and stuff where we live, but I don't have to worry about any of 'em when my dog's with me."

The boy stared at her; the girl behind him shuffled. "Your 'guardian'?"

Sofie felt the nervousness creeping into her smile, but she continued brightly. "He's an adventurer and a wizard. And I think he might be a secret Snow Elf, but don't tell him I told you that. Anyway, we're staying at the inn right now, but we live down the road to Falkreath, past the Guardian Stones. You know, you can see the Lady's stone from our house! My birthsign's the Lady. What's yours?"

No answer, at least not right away. The girl twisted her hands together while the boy cast nervous glances between Sofie and the inn. "You're with that elf," he finally asked, "who wears all the black?"

A rock was slowly forming in her stomach, but she nodded.

The three children stared at each other in silence. Then, shaking his head as if recovering from a dream, the boy raised his arm in a point. "Your dog's eating your candy."

Sofie snatched her arm up and looked down; her companion, lying on the ground, snapped his head up, just as startled as she. She blinked and looked up again, this time at the boy's back as he ran the other way, his own dog as his heels. The girl hissed, " _Frodnar!_ " and yet she, too, ran after him, leaving Sofie behind.

She stood there, in the shade of the awning, and didn't move even when her dog really did eat the candy out of her hand.

The shadows stretched longer and longer and the sky turned purple, then orange, then gray before her elf emerged from the inn, squinting against the faint light before pulling his clinking bag of potions onto his shoulder and turning to address her. "Sofie - I will be at the Trader."

"Mmm."

He paused, regarding her. "Something happened."

She shrugged. When it became obvious she would say no more, he turned away, slow and reluctant, to finish the evening's business. The sky darkened and the stars came out, and she remained silent, even after they had passed the Stones on their return journey. While her dog chased after imagined foxes in the underbrush, her guardian kept looking over his shoulder at her, eerie green eyes trying to catch hers before she'd hide her face from him.

Finally, his footsteps slowed, then stopped, and he turned to face her directly. "Have I angered you?"

Sofie started, looking up at his face, wan and worried in the moonlight. "No! That's not it."

His brow creased. "Then what is?"

She paused, then exhaled a great, bitter sigh, staring glumly into the sky.

He waited. Then, gently, "If you've tired, I'll carry you -"

"Why do we live so far out, anyway?" she snapped, wrapping her arms around herself and glaring away from him.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see him slowly tilt his head. "You're lonely -"

"There's nothing but wolves and deer, and whenever we go somewhere, I don't know anybody and they act like I'll give 'em a disease."

He flinched.

"Why can't we live in... in Whiterun or somewhere? Why can't we live in town like normal people?"

She threw an accusing look at him - but she couldn't hold it, after seeing his face. He turned it away from her, silent, and took his turn to gaze up at the stars' slow dance above.

"Your life cannot be normal," he finally murmured, "because of me."

They traveled the rest of the way without further conversation. On their arrival, he shut himself into his room, hiding from the dawn's light; she hid under her blankets as well, from her own words.

 

He left on another journey the next night, leaving her to spend several restless days on her own, watching the rain pour outside. When it cleared, she led her dog on an expedition through the woods, a fat field guide under one arm and a basket in another, picking herbs and mushrooms to spread out on the drying rack in his laboratory. She was sorting them into jars when she heard the key in the lock and leapt up to answer the door.

Except it wasn't an elf in the doorway; it was a stranger, a pointy-faced young woman in a dark robe. They stared at each other until her guardian stepped inside behind her, glancing between them.

"Sofie, this is Illia; she will keep the house here."

Sofie looked back at the strange woman, who let down her hood, flashing the girl an awkward, crooked-toothed smile.

Her guardian paused. "She'll keep you company while I am gone... if you consent."

Sofie's appraising stare shifting from him to her, back to him, back to her. Then, dubiously, "Do I have to call her 'mama'?"

Both adults sputtered. "I'm not," the woman gasped. "He's not - We're not!"

"She's to be my steward," he interrupted, sooner composed than his blushing companion. "That is all."

"Oh." Sofie returned to studying her. "So... another guardian?"

Illia tried on a smile again, bending to meet the girl's eye level. "And maybe a friend."

Slowly, Sofie nodded, offering a shy smile back. "Yes - maybe another friend."

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

"What's this one?" Illia asked, holding up the page.

"A slaughterfish's egg."

"And what's it good against?"

"Poisons," Sofie recited, "and cramps in the fingers."

"How about histcarp?"

"Drowning."

"Alkanet?"

"Forgetfulness."

"How about if you want to mix up a cordial against the cold? What color flower should you pick?"

"Purple."

Illia laughed. "You've memorized almost all of them. When your father - ah, I mean, your guardian - when he returns, we should show off; he'll be impressed."

Sofie glowed under the praise, but when Illia began flipping back through the pages to quiz her on a different section, she scrambled for a question to interrupt her with. "When is he going to be back?"

"Hm, well..." Illia paused to think, peering out the window. "From here to Solitude... Left on Tirdas... Hm. I can't say for sure, but it will probably be about two more days of waiting."

"Have you ever been to Solitude?" asked Sofie before Illia could pick up the book again.

"No. I'm from the Rift - I've hardly ever traveled outside it." She trailed her fingers over the book's cover before leaning back in her seat, looking pensive, maybe sad. "My... My family kept me there, but they're all gone now."

Sofie was quiet for a moment, watching the Imperial woman fold her hands in her lap, and finally murmured, "You're like us."

Illia shrugged and smiled faintly. "Looks like your guardian keeps building his collection, hm?" she laughed as she reached over to scritch under the sleepy dog's chin.

"How'd you meet him?"

"Your guardian? Ah... That's... a long story." She reached up to play with a strand of her dark hair, avoiding the child's eyes. "He helped me out of a bad situation. And then, when I needed somewhere else to go, he... suggested I come keep house and look after his ward."

Sofie studied her. "And you're not getting married, right?"

"Heavens, no!" Illia laughed nervously, cheeks pinking. "It's not like that; we're... friends." She spent a moment tasting that word, brow drawn, thoughtful. "Yes... or at least travelers on the same road... away."

She glanced back up; Sofie just fixed her with a curious look. She hesitated, then let her own gaze wander back out the window, watching the foliage begin to shiver under the drip of tiny raindrops.

"A chance at living another, peaceful life... is something to treasure." She hooked the stray hair behind her ear, smoothing it with her hand. "I think we feel the same way. The memories... The memories are much less cold and painful when there's warmth to look forward to tomorrow."

Sofie slowly looked away, her shoulders tensing.

"Sofie? What's wrong?"

She didn't really know how to say it; she didn't know if she should. But finally, murmured low, "There are a lot of things you don't tell me about."

Illia didn't have time to think of a response before the blue light hovering above them winked out, dropping them back into gray shadow. "Ah, hold on a moment - we need another Magelight."

"Why's it always Magelight?" Sofie cut in.

Illia blinked. "Because we can't have candles -"

"Why can't we have candles?"

"W... well, we don't need to spend money on them with two mages in the house."

"But sometimes I want to keep reading after you go to bed, and I can't make one."

"Well then, why don't we get the tomes out and practice!"

Sofie balled her fists in her lap. "You won't tell me why."

Illia bit her lip and looked away. "Well, it's because... because your guardian doesn't like them."

"Why? What's so bad about candlelight?"

"Look, Sofie -"

"Why can't we have them?"

"Because - because he says so!" Illia snapped - then immediately ducked her head, apologetic. "Please, Sofie, it's - It's not up to me. If you want to know, you should ask him."

 

And so on the night of his return, as he laid his traveling cloak out to dry in front of the fireplace, she asked him.

At the question, he immediately froze. When he finally turned his head to look at her, there was no overt anger or harshness in his face, but something about it still made her shiver. His tone was quiet but firm. "We need no candles."

It was harder for her to argue with him than with Illia, but she still felt her shoulders knotting with frustration. " _You_ don't need them. What about me?"

He paused again before answering; his expression didn't change, but his voice softened. "When you are old enough to cast your own Magelight, you will be old enough to set your own bedtime."

Sofie blinked, unsure if that was humor. Still, her stubbornness was unsatisfied, and she frowned. "But what's wrong with candles?"

The lightness that had just started to creep into his face fled immediately, and he turned away from her, towards the fireplace, resuming the business of removing his gloves and socks and pulling on his slippers. Sofie stood by the table, wavering. As the silence stretched on, she glanced towards the upstairs doorway, spying a woman's dark shape hovering there - but as soon as she caught that glimpse, Illia ducked out of view again, and she turned her gaze back to the tall elf in his house-clothes, watching him untangle his long hair.

"You're keeping it a secret," she said, though she didn't have the feeling left to make it sound accusative - only sad.

His comb paused for only a second. Quietly, "Yes."

Sofie drew a long breath, centering herself so her tone would say even: "My papa told me that secrets aren't good, especially if... if they're about bad things. He said that if you hold too many secrets inside, they make you sick, and nobody will know how to help you."

This time, the comb stopped, and his head turned slightly, enough to show his slender elven ear but not to show his face.

She waited.

Finally, that accented voice began, more hesitant than usual, "What he told you may be true."

But?

"But - that some secrets are kept for grave cause is also true."

She watched him turn to pull out a chair and slide into it, all without raising his eyes to hers. Her hands twisted together and, almost against her own volition, her lips moved; "But -"

He parted the hair falling into his face with his long fingernails, drawing it neatly to the side. Then he looked at her, weary. "Whether it was better to lock the poison away - can only be known after it escapes and the contamination coats everything."

She could say nothing.

A long silence hung between them again. Then, leaning back and turning his face to the fire, he spoke again. "You can study with them, if you wish - while I am away."

She looked up from the floor, confused. "What?"

"Candles." He glanced back at her, a flash of something in his expression that she couldn't identify before it disappeared. "You can have them, if you use them only while I am away."

Maybe it was supposed to be a favor, but watching him look away from her, drawing his feet up onto the chair and pulling his arms around his knees, she didn't feel relieved.

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

Summer bloomed. The companionship of Illia and the dog crowded the old loneliness out of Sofie's days, and the overstuffed bookshelves and new stockpile of candles crowded the boredom out of her nights. The hours when she sat by the window and stared out at the path to the road had become rare - though there were still a few, on evenings when she hoped to see her black-cloaked guardian climbing up the hill.

He had begun to leave on longer journeys since Illia moved in, but to make up for his lengthier absence, he brought home heavier loads of toys and gifts. From the Pale came a beautifully carved horker-ivory doll for whom they all collaborated to build a cozy little house. On another occasion, after a trip to Falkreath, he brought home a rooster and two hens, and she named them Magnus, Jode, and Jone, to her guardian's amusement and approval. And the warming weather demanded at least one new, lighter dress to replace her stained and tattered one, but he returned from Solitude with a whole wardrobe full of gowns, gracefully tailored and embroidered in a style that, he told her, was popular on Alinor. She felt like a princess - though, she conceded, perhaps not a Snow Elven one.

Sometimes while he was gone, they would take day trips in to town. Peculiar as she was, Illia still fell short of Sofie's guardian on measures of strangeness, and the residents seemed to grow less wary over time.

"Sure, you can play with us," said the boy with the dog, "but you have to eat this garlic first."

Sofie balked. "I can't just eat a raw head of garlic!"

"Ha! See, she won't do it!"

"Hey! If it's so easy, why don't you do it?"

"Well, uh..."

"See? You won't do it, either!"

"Fine. Do one clove, then."

They watched with awe as she downed it, and no one raised an objection to her playing the Dragonborn, wielding a thu'um of fire.

Like Illia, and perhaps like her guardian, she treasured her new life.

So the night found Sofie, in the dark of late Midyear. A violent summer storm had rolled in, and the crack and rumble of nearby thunder startled her awake. Being a big girl, she would have tried to go back to sleep if she could, but with her big milk-drinker of a dog pawing and mewling at her, it was naturally impossible. Instead, she slipped out from under the covers and, shivering only a little bit, tiptoed downstairs.

Illia, it seemed, had seized on a same idea when the thunder woke her; she was seated at the table, bent over a book. But as Sofie moved closer, the glow from a candle revealed that Illia had tried a two-pronged approach to her insomnia - a drained goblet lay next to her hand, and her snores were lightly scented with wine. That wasn't quite what Sofie was planning, but she did help herself to the candlestick, carrying it back upstairs, step by careful step, to browse the bookshelves in her guardian's room.

On the lower shelves were the familiar volumes, the alchemy reference, the rhymes, the storybooks. Her gaze wandered over the spines, but it soon traveled upward, to the books he rarely pulled to read to her. He wasn't home, and Illia was asleep; no one would scold her for climbing onto a chair and browsing these mysterious titles.

At first, she was disappointed; most of them sounded dry and technical, their early pages stuffed with jargon. Ah, but then - this one looked like a story, _The Wolf Queen, Volumes One Through Four_. She stepped down from the chair with her prize under an arm, returning to her bedroom to wrap herself in a blanket and read until the thunder passed.

It was indeed a grown-up story. She felt a little frightened as she turned the pages, but she was also intrigued, and even after the thunder passed and the rain softened from a roar to a patter, she stayed upright in bed, reading. On the floor, her dog drifted back to sleep, but she remained fascinated even as her eyes grew tired, even as the candle burned down to a stump.

If it had only burned down a little more, it would have all been very different.

Perhaps she didn't notice the front door creak open because the book so engrossed her, or maybe it was the unearthly lightness of the feet upon the stair - but if it had been an intruder, her dog would have growled, so perhaps it wasn't strange that it failed to enter her awareness. She lay there, reading, and might never have looked up at the shape creeping into the doorway, if not for the candlelight glinting off the leather of a boot as it stepped out from under a robe's black hem.

She looked, and she froze.

Standing there, looking at her with equal horror, was something that belonged in her book, not across her bedroom. With hood, scarves, and gloves shed, it was there for her to see: those shriveled, sunken features, the deathly green and violet bruise where its flesh was not milk white, the spidery hands with long, slender fingers that came to black points, _that face_ \- not human, not elven, more of a skull stretched with skin in crude imitation or cruel mockery of mer. Its ears were tattered, its nose had collapsed, and though its chin was wiped, or at least smudged, clean, she could see the lingering stain, the red-brown stain, on its long, sharpened teeth - because its lips were parted in a twisted, crazed, defeated grin.

She recognized it by its strange, haunted, milky green eyes.

They stared across the room at each other, unmoving, before he finally spoke.

" _Go - back - to - sleep._ "

He took a step forward, reaching towards the candle, and, with the tip of a horrible, clawed finger, put it out.

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

Sofie didn't sleep.

Even when the sky turned pink, her heartbeat wouldn't slow. This morning, the dawn, whose light normally pushed away all shadows, could do nothing about her latest nightmare.

Illia stirred and called her down to breakfast. From her cheer, it seemed she hadn't seen what Sofie had seen, though when the latter failed to manage more than a bite of her food, she grew concerned. But Sofie couldn't answer her questions, shaking her head and stepping outside.

She turned to look at the house, the garden, the finished tower, the nighttime shelter for the birds. Magnus, perched on the fence, peered at her before letting out another crow. Everything was familiar and in its place, the way it should be.

She turned and walked into the forest, down a path she had taken once while hunting herbs and mushrooms for him, picking her way over fallen logs and around boulders. At the end of the trail was a thick, old tree with a hollow at its base. She climbed inside and sat down with her back to the trunk wall.

Above, the daylight sifted through the leaves; below, the litter rotted and the earth smelled green.

She closed her eyes and slept dreamlessly.

 

When she awoke, the sun had gone down, and a tall shadow fell over her. She looked up at him. His face was delicate and elven; in the twilight, the glamour was intact.

He held out her coat to her. "Come."

She trembled but obeyed.

They walked down the path and down the hill. When they reached the road, they turned east, and they continued to walk, past the fork that led to Riverwood, past the charred husk that once was Helgen, up the road that led towards the mountains. They walked and walked, and her legs ached, but she was too afraid to stop or even turn and sprint for one of the villages - and she knew her stride wasn't long enough. So she walked with her head down, not looking back at the lights of civilization and safety disappearing behind them.

As night darkened and they climbed in elevation, the temperature dropped, and she trembled for reasons less to do with fear and more to do with the bitter wind rolling down from the Throat of the World. She had to stop and shield her face against the bite of a sudden gust, and when she opened her eyes, she found speckles of ice clinging to her sleeve and skirt, glittering.

She looked up at the elf in front of her. He had stopped when she stopped and stood looking over his shoulder at her, dark locks snaking across his face, skin and eyes glowing coldly in the moonlight. His expression was as unreadable as always - and yet, it had become alien.

"What?"

She squeezed her eyes shut again, inhaling a gulp of the jagged air, and slowly sank to the ground, wrapping her arms around her knees.

His shadow approached hers but stopped short of touching it. "What is it?"

She found herself speaking, as if she had been flooded with so much fear that she could no longer feel any more of it. "I'm tired," her voice hoarse, "and I'm hungry."

His weight shifted, but there was no reply. She breathed, pressing her cheek to the soft fur of her coat's collar; it failed to comfort her.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked.

"Riften."

She looked up at him then. "Why?"

He paused. "We're going to the orphanage."

Her blood froze. Whatever showed in her face, it made him immediately look away.

The wind whipped a flurry of snow down from the mountain, and it seemed as though, so quickly, winter had returned.

For a long time, neither could move or speak. He was the first to make an attempt, jerking stiffly towards her. His voice was commanding, harsh, but it somehow seemed to struggle to make it out of his throat. "Get up."

"You're leaving me." Her voice sounded not her own. "You're leaving me behind."

The words stopped the hand coming towards her, but only for a moment; it closed on her arm anyway, pulling her to her feet. " _Get up._ Ivarstead -"

"No!" She found herself screaming now, yanking unsuccessfully against his hand. "No! You said you'd take care of me! You said the house was going to be mine! You can't _leave_ me!"

His words remained quiet, even if they came through clenched teeth. "It's late. We must go _now_." With that, he pulled her forward; she shrieked, but she could only scrabble uselessly against his superior strength.

"Don't take me to the orphanage," she cried, her rage dissolving in the face of her helplessness. "Illia said - she said it's a terrible place, and the people there are awful -"

" _Awful?_ " He stopped, so suddenly she stumbled into him. He dropped her arm and whirled to face her, his eyes wide and shining. " _The people there are awful?_ "

She took a step back. In the dim moonlight, their true shape was concealed, but every time his teeth flashed, she still shook.

"You believe an orphanage in Riften could be worse than _me_?"

She managed, briefly, to glance up at his face; it was wild, but not with anger.

"Then - tell me. Tell me how anything could be worse - than _me_."

She said nothing; she could say nothing, only clasp her hands over her mouth and tremble.

"Yes." His voice was soft, dead. "There is nothing more twisted, more damned. And so, now that you know - you, too, will leave me."

And so he turned, taking her by the wrist again and tugging her behind. She stumbled after him, whimpering.

"This is how it should have been from the beginning."

"No -"

"You'll be safe; they'll care for you. Only a few years -"

"No!"

"So what, then? Will you pretend to live a happy life with a monster as your father?"

She shuddered.

"You can't - so it must be this way."

He pulled her along, and she began to cry.

"It cannot possibly be as bad as they say. Be brave -"

" _No!_ "

"Sofie!"

He squeezed her wrist, and she sobbed. "Please - that hurts!"

He stopped mid-stride, his grip slackening immediately. She looked up at him through a haze of tears; he looked down at her, that face that so rarely showed anything now full of anguished regret, despair. The breath caught in his throat, and he hovered, it seemed, not knowing what to do.

And then he dropped her arm and howled, inhumanly; she leapt back from him, her face going white. He staggered, and after a moment, she saw it - a slender shaft of metal embedded in his hip, glinting in the dim light.

He hissed with pain, sinking to one knee - but it was still only a moment before his fingers flicked, the hum and crackle of magicka in the air. Flame leapt from his hands, streaming down the road; there was a shout, and Sofie thought she saw something leap for cover just as the fireball exploded with force to shake the cobblestones.

When she looked back at her guardian, his eyes were on her, quickly searching her for any sign of injury. Finding none, he met her gaze. " _Run_ , Sofie! Get cover, _hide!_ "

"Just this once," came a unfamiliar voice, strangely mocking, from somewhere behind the boulders lining the road, "you should listen to what the vampire tells you, girlie."

When the vampire glanced back at Sofie, she was still frozen to the spot she had fallen. He gritted his teeth and turned towards his attacker, throwing off his backpack and darting forward to get cover of his own - and cried out again, collapsing forward in agony.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" The crossbow ratcheted again, but its wielder did not yet step out into view. "Lined with blessed silver. I'll have to tell Jurard just how beautifully her prototype's performing in tests."

He had to crawl, but when the wounded elf spoke, his tone was even and strong, an almost-believable facsimile of calm. "Put your weapon away, Dawnguard. The child -"

"The child needs rescued, if it isn't too late - or put out of her misery, if it is." The delivery was so matter-of-fact that Sofie quaked with fear; she forced her legs to work again and scrambled to the side of the road, tumbling into the brambles.

The green eyes, softening with relief, flicked from Sofie's hiding place back towards the stranger. "You're mistaken, hunter. I'm no ally of the Volkihar."

"Ah, but we already know that. A little far north for your bloodline, aren't you?" The voice seemed to be moving, but Sofie's senses couldn't track it; her guardian, though, closely followed a point through the blackness with his gaze. "Pick it up while you were still with those _old comrades_ of yours - the ones you ate through a whole fortress of? They've got their very own bounty on you, too, you know."

He flinched, but she couldn't guess whether it was the words or the bolt biting into him.

"Seems just about everybody wants you dead, Bonsamu; it's just charitable of me to oblige."

And the man stepped out from his cover to loose another bolt. Even wounded, the elf was prepared, and he sprang out of the way on his hands and good leg - and cried out in surprise as the shot exploded on impact with the ground, sending out a shower of sparks.

Perhaps the cry emboldened the hunter, who leapt forward and drew a long, silvery blade in a single movement. But as he attempted to close, his quarry signed in the air, and the hunter's boot came down on a silvery rune that burst into tendrils of frost, biting down on his foot and pinning it. He had only a moment to pinwheel for balance and draw up his buckler to intercept an icy lance aimed at his heart, grimacing as shards splintered off and bit into his flesh.

He pulled his foot free in time to kick the advancing vampire in the face, swinging and missing as he once more rolled away. Flames roared from the mage's fingertips but failed to meet their target, and the sword's next swing sliced through the black fabric of a fluttering cloak and grazed flesh, to the sound of another sharp cry.

And when Sofie heard it, she couldn't stop herself. "Please - don't hurt my da!"

For just a second, the scream froze the combatants where they stood, facing each other on the winding road. Then the man raised his sword, but before he could bring it down, the air shattered with a crack of power that blew him backwards off his feet - and off the edge of the embankment, through the air and onto the cobbles below.

The elf stood poised above, hands raised and glowing with readied magic - but he didn't release it. Long moments passed, Sofie's heartbeat pounding, before he slowly lowered his arms. After a final, lingering look down, he turned, limping back up the road to where he had abandoned his bags.

She crept out of the underbrush on her hands and knees, face streaked with tears. He looked up as she crawled over to him; his face was bleak and weary.

"He..."

"Don't look, Sofie."

She sat beside him, wiping her face with her sleeves. She looked up when he gasped with pain, in time to see him fling the silvered bolt away into the bushes, as if it hurt his hand to even hold it for a second. From his bag he grabbed a flask of blue liquid, ripped out the cork and downed it, then held his hand to the wound, pale white magicka glowing from between his fingers.

If there was any blood, it disappeared into the black of his robes, as it always did.

The quiet returned, and they sat together, shrouded by night, for a long time.

 

He spoke first, though it was just a whisper. "I'm sorry."

She hesitated, then leaned closer - and when he didn't retreat, buried her face in his shoulder and her fingers in the soft fabric of his robe, familiarly redolent of flowers and death.

"I'm sorry, Sofie."

"I know."

"I -"

She sat back and looked at him. "I'm not gonna go to Riften."

"But -"

She cut him off. "Aren't you my da?"

He stared at her, not understanding.

"You're you, right?"

"I..."

"You chose me - to watch over and protect me, didn't you? You made me medicine when I was sick. You sewed this," and she touched a patch on her skirt. "You read to me, whenever I had a nightmare. You worked really hard to make me happy."

He didn't speak, his eyes lowered to the calico patch and its tight, careful stitching.

Her voice had stopped wavering. "You're still the same person - who did all those things."

He finally looked up at her, the line of his brow unsteady.

She paused, then took a long breath. "I'll forgive you," she sighed, "if you'll come with us to Whiterun and meet a friend I have there."

He hesitated. "But, I am -"

"Are you gonna bite me?"

" _No._ "

"Are you gonna bite her?"

" _No!_ "

She reached up to touch his sleeve, speaking firmly. "Then let's go home."

A long pause, and then, finally: "If that is your wish, then - let's go."

For speed, he carried her, fleeing the threat of the dawn. She wound her arms tightly around his shoulders and closed her eyes, the dark air of the deep night running cool over her face, washing away her anxiety, putting the face of the man with the sword out of her mind.

"Illia -"

"Illia knows."

She exhaled. "So it's safe at home."

He didn't answer, tipping his head back to look at the sky, judging its color, the procession of the stars.

Her grip tightened on his neck. "Will more of those men come?"

His steps slowed, and he turned his head to look at her. When he spoke, the uncertainty was gone from his voice. "Don't fear. It is not for you to worry for _my_ safety."

She met his pale green gaze and, instead of protesting, held fast.

He paused, then turned back to the westward road. "Trust in Auri-El - that everything will end the way it should."

She didn't know about Auri-El, but the mer on whose back she rode, she trusted.

And he -

 

 

 

He supposed, if it was really true - that Time aligned coincidence to bring a Padomaic worm-husk here and set it feasting on the souls of His disobedient children - he would serve. Less as penance for his own sins, less for hope of pardon, and more...

More for hope of her happiness.

"Sleep - we'll soon be home."

 

 


End file.
